


The Pack Survives

by ebethoboi888999888



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arya Stark & Sansa Stark Have a Good Relationship, Canonical Character Death, House Stark Family Feels (ASoIaF), POV Arya Stark, POV Robb Stark, POV Sansa Stark, Robb Stark is a Gift, Stark Family Reunion(s) (ASoIaF), Traumatized Children
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:28:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25270117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ebethoboi888999888/pseuds/ebethoboi888999888
Summary: "If she had just been a little bit quicker, maybe she could have escaped. Maybe she could have gotten to Sansa and Father in time as well. Maybe Syrio wouldn’t have died in vain. "After failing to escape the Red Keep when Ned Stark was unjustly arrested, Arya Stark is held captive alongside her sister. The Stark sisters must learn to rely on each other, as well as accept the surprising help of Myrcella Baratheon, in order to escape the viper pit of King's Landing.
Relationships: Arya Stark & Sansa Stark, Catelyn Stark/Ned Stark, Jon Snow & Arya Stark & Bran Stark & Ned Stark & Rickon Stark & Robb Stark & Sansa Stark, Myrcella Baratheon & Arya Stark, Talisa Maegyr/Robb Stark, Tommen Baratheon & Arya Stark
Comments: 6
Kudos: 30





	The Pack Survives

The last thing she wanted to do was cry, but it was all she seemed to be able to do. Her cheeks were constantly wet. Sansa said her face would shrivel like fingers did in a long bath if she wasn’t careful. She had been locked in her room since she tried to run when the guards came for her. Cersei claimed it was for her own good.

“It’s dangerous to be running about unchaperoned, child. You could have gotten hurt.”

Arya did her best to swallow her anger. Getting Cersei more cross would only hurt her and her family more.

If she had just been a little bit quicker, maybe she could have escaped. Maybe she could have gotten to Sansa and Father in time as well. Maybe Syrio wouldn’t have died in vain.

The only person allowed inside her chamber, beyond maids and servants, was Sansa. Sansa had relative free range of the Red Keep, although Arya knew her every movement was being watched.

His sister had visited her numerous times, bringing reports of the outside world.

“They say Father’s a traitor. He tried to stage a coup to put King Robert’s brother on the throne instead of Joffrey.” She had explained tearfully.

“Have you ever known father to do anything dishonorable?” Arya argued spitefully.

Sansa only shook her head, water welling in her blue eyes.

Later, she came back, her face like stone. “They made me write a letter to Robb, to convince him to bend the knee.”

“That won’t do anything!”

Her sister nodded. “I know.”

Finally, hope glittered in Sansa’s eyes on a third visit. “I think I’ve found a compromise. Joffrey’s going to allow Father to join the Watch as long as he confesses.”

When Arya opened her mouth to protest, Sansa dropped her voice and continued. “And Robb’s called the bannermen. He’s marching south to come get us! If he makes it in time…”

He didn’t.

Arya was allowed out of her room to witness Ned Stark’s confession. She stood on the step of the Great Sept of Baelor a few inches behind Sansa. The hand of Meryn Trant, the king’s guard who had killed Syrio, was tight on her wrist in case she gotten any clever ideas about running. The only thing louder than the roars of the crowd was the blood pumping in her ears.

Her father was more unkempt than Arya had ever seen him. His hair hanging limply in his haggard face. She had heard stories of the horrors of the black cells, yet had never imagined that they could affect her invincible father. He blinked in the sunlight, but when he locked eyes on his daughters, he aimed the ghost of a smile at them. All the comfort he could muster in his present state.

Sansa nodded encouragingly at him and her hand found Arya’s. She squeezed gently. Suddenly, she could barely hear her father’s words, overwhelmed by a sudden bought of violent homesickness. This was not an adventure to a far-off land with towers that scrapped the sky. This was a hostage scenario and her father was betraying his honor to save his daughters’ lives.

“…to seize the throne for myself.”

Arya knew this to be a lie. There was no way her father had any desire to stay in the south, much less King’s Landing.

She had to force herself to listen to Joffrey after many moons of ignoring anything that came out of his mouth. Horror crept as she took in Joffrey’s words.

“Ser Ilyn…bring me his head.”

Even Cersei looked distraught as Joffrey called for her father’s execution. Trant had to wrap his arms around her middle and lift into her into the air to stop her from running towards her father as he laid his head on the execution block.

The mob’s jeering did nothing to draw out Sansa’s shrieks, but Arya found she could not make a sound. All she could do was watch in horrid fascination as her father’s head was separated from his body.

Sansa had collapsed in terror. Arya felt her own body go limp, but all she felt was loss. There was a hole in her chest where her father used to be. She would never see him again, would never speak with him again. He would never tell her anymore stories of his youth, her aunt and uncles and grandparents and Robert’s Rebellion. He would never return to Winterfell, nor would he ever lay eyes on her mother and brothers again. He was gone from this world forever.

If he could die, then everyone else she loved could.

Sansa could die. Mother and Robb and Rickon and Bran could. Even Jon could.

When she was forced back into her chamber, she found that she could not shut her eyes without seeing it all again. The sound of her father’s own sword slicing through bone. She wanted to fight and scream and kill them all but she was reminded of her sister, just as captive as she was. Cersei had all but told her when she was first locked in her room that any toe out of line would get both Stark sisters punished severely.

The first night, Cersei allowed the girls to comfort one another. Arya curled into a ball on Sansa’s lap as thick, heavy tears falling from Sansa’s face to her scalp. Sansa stroked her hair steadily in an attempt to distract them both from their sobs. She whispered the words to all the songs their mother used to sing to them. Normally, Arya would be embarrassed to be treated like such a child, but in that night her sister’s comfort was all she wanted in the world.

She finally fell asleep without realizing it, safe within in her sister’s embrace, the closest thing to her mother she could find.

Sansa came to visit her when she could. What filled her days, Arya never asked. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

“What happened?” Arya asked, noting how her once vibrant blue eyes looked dead in her skull.

Softly, Sansa forced a small smile. “It’s nothing. How are you faring?”

She shrugged. If anything, it was strange to feel. She was supposed to be the strong one. She was not supposed to be blubbering in her sister’s arms. Fury shook her bones when she thought about Joffrey and Cersei, but her solitude had forced other thoughts upon her. How much she missed her brothers. How much she wanted a hug from her mother. How little Rickon might not even remember their father.

And constant worry for Sansa. Arya was trapped in her room, which was punishment enough. But Sansa was forced to play the loving fiancé and weak-willed child. At least Arya didn’t have to play a part, even though she was little more than a prisoner. Cersei was still concerned she would try to run, which she supposed she would have in another life. In this one, she couldn’t dream of leaving her sister behind, the sister who looked more broken every time she saw her. She and Sansa had never gotten along, but now…it felt like they finally had something to hold them together.

Their relationship blossomed in those days. Sansa passed along books recommended by Lord Tyrion. She convinced her to practice sewing with her as a means to pass the time. Sometimes they would sit together in silence, both scratching away at letters that would never be sent. To Robb, to Mother, to Jon, to the younger boys, even to Father. 

Winter would come for the Lannisters soon enough, but now Arya needed to rely on the Tully words for strength. Family, duty, honor.

* * *

“Lady Arya?” Myrcella Baratheon’s sweet voice sounded through her locked bedroom door.

“Go away!” She cried.

“P-please, Lady Arya.” The princess said. “Let me in.”

She groaned.

Arya didn’t actively dislike Myrcella. Joffrey was undeniably a monster, but his younger brother and sister didn’t seem as bad. She had not spoken at length with either of them, as they were nearly always bound at the hip to their wretched mother. Even in the months she spent in King’s Landing while her father was the Hand, she had not said more than ten words to either of them. Arya had had no time for a meek girl and a soft boy, not when there was water dancing to practice and dungeons to explore.

Begrudgingly, Arya jumped from her bed and opened the door.

“Did the queen send you?”

Myrcella shook her head. “I thought you would like to take a walk with me.”

“I’m not allowed to leave.” She grumbled.

“Don’t worry about that.” The princess said with a warm smile. “No one will bother you if you’re with me.”

Strangely enough, just like her time with Sansa, that became a pastime. Once a day Myrcella would appear at Arya’s chambers and take her on a walk through the gardens. Sometimes they were accompanied by Tommen, who Arya found was just as agreeable as his sister. There was something…nice about their softness. They did not expect anything for their kindness, which was remarkable given who raised them. She never did have much patience for intrigue and gossip like Sansa; however, it seemed Myrcella was not all that interested in it either.

They avoided difficult subjects, subjects like the war and her ever-approaching older brother’s army, but their conversations were not always light either. They had such different lives and expectation for themselves; however, there was something pleasant about listening to someone else talk about the deepest desires of their heart, even when drastically different from your own. Myrcella was delightfully passionate when you got here going. She saw a future as a mother and wife, of course, but she spoke vibrantly about everything she wanted to do before the time came. She wanted to see the Titan of Braavos and sail along the Arm of Dorne, climb the cliffs of Pyke and maybe even visit the Wall.

Myrcella listened intently as Arya described Winterfell in detail. The girl had not been allowed to explore Arya’s home when she visited with her family. Arya sometimes wondered if that would have made a difference, if she would have found this ally in King’s Landing faster that way.

The princess was patient when Arya’s vivid recollections of her family turned regretfully tearful. There was no judgement in her comforts, tempering Arya’s shame at breaking her stoicism. Tommen let his cat nestle against her cheek when she was particularly despondent. He said that Ser Pounce’s purrs were the most soothing sound you could ever find. Arya agreed.

However gentle Myrcella was in their conversations, Arya had seen that she was not the feeble girl she had pegged her as in the beginning. While her friend was only a few years older than her, she had always seemed so much wiser. Over their time together, Arya had learned the source of her uncommon strength.

Almost a fortnight after their walks began, they stumbled upon King Joffrey, and, a few steps behind him, Sansa. She rarely came across Sansa on her walks. Their relationship had been almost entirely contained to the confines of Arya’s little room.

“’Cella.” Joffrey said unpleasantly, but stopped when he caught sight of Arya. “What is _she_ doing out of her rooms?” He sneered. “Hound! Bring the little urchin back to her chamber and barricade the door behind her.”

“Please, my love.” Sansa murmured softly. Her sister’s lips were stretched into a smile, although Arya could see that it was more stone than flesh these days. “She’s doing no harm here.”

“No!” Joffrey cried petulantly. “I will not have the wretched thing attacking me again! Hound, remove her from my presence at once.”

Joffrey’s hulking shadow called the Hound grumbled, but stepped forward. In a flash, Myrcella leapt into action.

“Brother.” She exclaimed with a mask to rival Sansa’s. “Lady Arya is here as my guest with Mother’s permission.”

If it was a lie, it was a good one. If it was the truth…Arya was not sure she cared anymore.

“It would be so bothersome if I had to fetch Lady Arya again from her chambers, given that they are so far away from anything beautiful to gaze upon. Besides, you wouldn’t want to upset Mother.”

Joffrey scowled. He shook his hand and walked away swiftly, leaving Sansa thoroughly in the dust.

“How did you do that?” Sansa asked in shock. “Calm him down so quickly?”

Myrcella walked her brother’s form disappeared with a watchful eye. “I learned from the best.” She said dryly, referring, Arya realized, to her mother. “Is he…hurting you?”

Sansa stilled and Arya’s heart leapt to her throat. “You don’t spend much time in the throne room, do you, your grace?”

“I do try to avoid it.”

Arya was keenly aware of Sansa’s attempts to avoid her gaze.

“He has not hurt me since your uncle arrived, your grace.” Sansa said softly. “Lord Tyrion had been taking the brunt of the King’s temper, it seems.”

“Worry not, Lady Sansa.” Myrcella tenderly. “My uncle is adept at fielding insults, as he has been forced to his entire life. But if Joffrey harms you again, I hope you do not hesitate to come to me. I have kept him away from Tommen all these years. I shall do the same for you.”

Both Stark girls were shocked by the admission, although both fought to shield their astonishment.

“I-if it pleases, your grace.” Sansa stuttered. “I ought not to keep the king waiting.”

“Rightly so.” Myrcella said, taking a final, curious glimpse of Arya’s sister and strolling away.

“Sansa—” Arya made for her arm, but she shook it off.

“Not now.” She whispered quickly. “What I do, I do for you. You are not the only Stark with wolf blood.”

Later, when Arya’s mind was still swimming with new information, she blurted out a question to Myrcella that had been bothering her for weeks.

“Why did you come get me?”

Myrcella bent down to smell a flower. “So, we could take a walk.”

“No, I meant…” She huffed. “Why are you being nice to me?”

She laughed lightly. “Because we’re friends.”

An unexpected warmth glowed in Arya’s stomach. She’d had plenty of playmates, over the years. Her siblings and many of the other children at Winterfell. But she’d never really counted them as _friends_ before, particularly not when she got older. When she started taking lessons with Sansa and Septa Mordane rather than with Bran and Maester Luwin. Sansa and her friends were far too girly for her tastes (although Myrcella was rather frilly herself) and it became improper to roughhouse with boys. Not that it stopped her, especially with her brothers.

Her family remarked that she could find a friend anywhere, with anyone, but Arya had never agreed. A partner for a game, perhaps, or a playmate but so rarely a true friend.

“Why?” Arya asked without thinking.

Myrcella looked at her thoughtfully. “Because you looked like you needed one.”

Suddenly, her cheeks were wet with tears.

“I needed my father.” She murmured through the water steaming down her face.

Myrcella was her side in an instant, offering her a handkerchief and leading her to a seat.

“I understand.” She murmured. “My father was not…I was not close to him, but I miss other people. My uncle Jaime, mostly…” She swallowed thickly. “I’m so sorry for what happened to your father, and I know how much you miss your family. It was true what I said to Sansa. I try to stay out of the way of politics and my family, but I understand you are not here of your own freewill. I hoped, at first, I could…provide some comfort for you. But now…” The princess dropped her voice to no more than a whisper. “I want to help. I want to help you and Sansa escape.”

* * *

Arya held back her tears as she watched her closest friend depart for Dorne. She had been practicing with Sansa, learning to be as stone-faced in turmoil as their father had been. The conversation Sansa had promised that day in the garden never came because Myrcella had advised Arya not to push.

“Older sisters protect their younger brothers and sisters. That’s what they are supposed to do.” She had advised her. “If she wants you to know, she’ll tell you.”

Maybe she should have pushed her. Maybe she should aim for Joffrey’s heart. Tommen would certainly be a kinder king than him.

When Myrcella had learned she was being married off to a prince of Dorne, she had wailed before her mother yet been calm when alone with Arya.

“I’ve heard Dorne is beautiful. And I don’t believe what they say about Dornish men. They say Joffrey is the most just king to ever live. You should never believe rumors.” Myrcella muttered with thinly veiled ire.

“I’ll miss you.” Arya said meekly.

Her friend’s expression softened but her eyes still sparkled. “And I, you. Tommen will keep up your daily walks and perhaps he’ll be more inclined to bring you on adventures.”

Arya chuckled. The three’s adventures had been few but mighty. Unbeknownst to Tommen, Myrcella and Arya had mapped out three different escape routes if the time should come. They only dared venture that far when the girls had Tommen as a chaperone however. No one would ever believe that tender Prince Tommen would have an ulterior motive to simple games.

If Cersei had begun to take notice of the inordinate amount of time her children spent with Arya, she did not mention it. She was far too preoccupied with Joffrey to care what Arya was doing, unless it was immensely disruptive. It should be noted that due to Myrcella’s prodding, Arya had made an effort to behave. She had ceased snapping at the guards and servants and was now actually invited to feasts, rather than forced to have Sansa her smuggle almond cakes.

“You’ll visit me in Dorne when this is all over, yes?”

Arya had fervently nodded.

“And you’ll bring your brothers?”

She laughed openly.

It seemed the princess had taken a liking to the image Arya painted of her older brothers. She vaguely recalled handsome Robb Stark from Winterfell, but at Arya’s description of a young Ned Stark in Jon Snow, she had pretended to swoon. Myrcella’s exaggerated affection for Jon and Robb had become quite the joke between the two girls.

“Yes, I’ll kidnap Jon from the Wall just so he can come be ogled by you in Dorne. What will your betrothed think when he finds out you are desperately in love with a sworn brother of the Night’s Watch?”

Myrcella pouted dramatically. “He’ll just have to suffer it. I will not be kept away from my true love.”

Arya’s eyes dropped. “Have you heard anything about your fiancé?”

She pursed her lips in a manner that made her look disturbingly like Cersei. “Trystane Martell. Uncle has assured me he’s as chivalrous and handsome as I could get. Better than Robin Arryn, at the very least.”

Arya nodded. She did not know much about her cousin, but had heard he was a sickly, petulant thing.

“We could run away now.” She said suddenly. “You could come with us.”

The princess offered a sad smile. “My mother would count it as kidnapping and there would be no chance of peace after that. And besides, we have a plan. You must wait until the time is right.” Myrcella placed her hand over Arya’s. “Remember your vow.”

Arya squeezed her hand in reassurance.

As they hatched Sansa and Arya’s escape plan, Myrcella had stipulated a few conditions in case the North was victorious in the war. The princess had no love for Joffrey and would not blame Robb for beheading him, but she asked that Cersei be spared. She would not go unpunished. Myrcella just asked that she not lose her life. Whatever crimes she had committed, she was still Myrcella’s mother. Begrudgingly, Arya agreed.

The other provisions were much more amenable. Myrcella, of course, would not be blamed, as well as Tommen. Lord Tyrion, who Arya had never seen be anything less than kind to her family, would be treated with respect. And Jaime, Mrycella’s uncle, would be granted mercy as well.

In exchange, Myrcella was smuggled nondescript traveling clothes into Arya’s chamber, for both she and her sister. They had hidden extra food, a bit of gold nicked from Joffrey’s room (he had so much, he would never notice it was gone), and Arya’s contraband sword, Needle, beneath her bed. Finally, Myrcella had chosen the perfect horse from the stables for their purposes and had her saddled and prepared for a long ride.

She was more than confident the plan would work, if they chose the right time, but as Arya watched her friend sail away, doubt started to creep in.

Sansa stood beside her. Her sister’s painted face was as somber as ever. In the many moons since their father died, Arya had grown to admire her sister more than she could have ever thought possibly. Arya was not suited for politics, they discovered quickly. Sansa seemed to be born for it. The one thing in the world Arya was not jealous of her for.

Sansa had joined their walks more than once, growing to enjoy Myrcella’s company as much as Arya, though even she did not know about the plan. While Cersei saw Arya as little more than a nuisance that must be tolerated to keep Robb from killing Ser Jaime, Sansa was truly a piece on the playing field. She was, if only in name, engaged to the king. It was safer for everyone if Sansa didn’t know anything.

As the party walked away from the dock, Arya linked his arms with the prince. He looked as depressed at Arya felt.

In their final embrace, Myrcella had whispered in her ear: “Look after Tommen.” She intended to do just that.

There was a flurry of commotion from the gathered crowds. The jeers and swears reminded her of her father’s execution, although, mercifully, they seemed to be aimed at Joffrey and Cersei. The Stark girls were, yet again, an afterthought. As the shouts turned violent, Arya and Tommen were swept away. Panic started to mount in her stomach as she realized she had lost sight of Sansa.

She heard her sister’s muffled shrieks through the cacophony of sound. Desperately, she tried to wrench her arm from Tommen’s, but his grip was like iron. The City Watch had swarmed them and Cersei had Tommen’s other hand. There was no way she would be able to break free to go for Sansa.

All she could think about what her sister’s lifeless body would look like. Vomit rose in her throat as the enraged crowd disappeared completely from view.

* * *

Before she knew it, she was locked away in her room again. Tommen had apologized profusely, claiming that his mother had commanded him to be contained as well, for his own safety, so there was no way he could spring her anytime soon.

All she wanted was her sister. All she wanted was to know if she was alright. She begged her servants and guards for information but received only grunts and sympathetic stares.

Three days later, Sansa finally came to see her. Thankfully, she seemed intact, save for a few bruises on her cheeks. Her eyes seemed infinitely more downcast, if that was even possible.

“I’m alright. They didn’t hurt me too badly.” Sansa reassured her as she brushed her finger’s through Arya’s hair. Sansa had taken to styling her hair in the southern fashion as a way to seem amenable to the court’s customs, when they were in private, the girls took turns doing Northern plaits in each other’s hair. Arya should hate it, and some part of her did, but when Sansa did it to her, Arya could imagine it was Catelyn’s fingers. It seemed only fair Arya granted the same comfort to Sansa. “The Hound saved me.”

Arya wrinkled her nose. “The Hound?”

Sansa hummed in response.

“That’s not all is it?” Arya reasoned. A year and a half ago she couldn’t have possibly recognized Sansa’s moods, but after being each other’s most trusted confidants for so long, she knew her sister like she knew her own mind.

Sansa’s fingers stilled. “I’ve become a woman.”

Arya froze, dread creeping into her heart. “When’s the wedding?”

“Not for some time, yet. Hopefully not ever. I’m still the daughter and sister of traitors, after all. Cersei is still holding it over my head.”

She shifted in her seat to properly view her sister. “We’ll be free soon.” She consoled quietly. “I know.”

“Do you really think Robb will make it in time?” Sansa asked. Arya was shocked by the tears glowing in her eyes. She had not seen her sister cry since the night their father lost his head. She imagined Sansa must’ve at some point, but she hid her tears well from Arya.

“Have faith,” She said. “Wolves cannot be contained forever.”

* * *

As King’s Landing prepared for battle, Arya accompanied Sansa and the rest of the women and children to Maegor’s Holdfast. Sansa was talking softly with her handmaiden, Shae, while Arya gazed out the window at the gathering men. It was long past sunset, but the city was still alight with activity.

“Sansa, come here.” Cersei called, completely ignoring Arya’s presence. She wasn’t entirely sure she had been invited to the safety of the Holdfast. She’d rather do literally anything than spend the night in a small room with Cersei, a bunch of flowery-smelling ladies, and screaming children. Sansa’s death grip on her wrist when she appeared in her doorway had been enough persuasion, however.

As his mother was distracted with tormenting her sister, Tommen scurried over to her.

“Here, Myrcella said they were your favorite.” He shyly offered her an almond cake.

“Would you like to share?” She asked and he heartily agreed. “Where’s Ser Pounce?” She asked in between bites.

“Mother said he had to stay in my room.” Tommen said nervously.

Arya tried to smile at him, but she was worried it came out more as a grimace. “I’m sure he’ll be fine. Cats are clever and no one would be cruel enough to hurt an animal as sweet as him.”

“Joffrey did.” Tommen whimpered.

She tried to conceal her displeasure. “Not all men are as…not all men are like the king.”

“I wish ‘Cella was here.” Tommen lamented. “She always knows what to do.”

Arya had to agree. Tommen was fine company and had a good heart, but she still desperately missed Myrcella. Though, her walks with Tommen had a different kind of charm to them. Twice she had convinced him to play swords with her. The second time had been cut short by Lord Tyrion, who scolded them not unkindly. He warned them they were lucky it was he who found them and not the queen.

Spending time with Tommen reminded her of her younger brothers, at times a welcome distraction, but also a cruel reminder. Sansa had let slip that there were horrible rumors about Winterfell going around. Theon Greyjoy had seized their home and there were questions of Bran and Rickon’s survival.

As if reassuring herself as much as Arya, Sansa had insisted no one knew Winterfell better than Bran, so with his help, both of them surely must have escaped. And if not, Theon would never hurt them. Arya didn’t try to remind her that Bran was a cripple and Rickon was a child so how could they, of all people, hope to escape the Ironborn. It would be useless anyway. She was sure Sansa had already thought of it already.

Sansa returned to Arya’s side after enduring Cersei’s torments, shaken but hiding it well.

She took her hand. “Come, let us pray to the gods that the king and his men are victorious.”

After a glare from Sansa, Arya relented, although her prayers went in the opposite direction. Arya did not know much about Stannis, but anyone would be preferable to Joffrey.

Like every time Sansa forced her to pray in public, Arya thought first to the Old Gods, to ask them to protect her northern brothers, and then to the Seven, to bring her southern mother comfort. Finally, she prayed to the God of Death, to bring his talents to Joffrey and Cersei.

Over and over in the night, Cersei called Sansa to her side. What they spoke of, Arya never heard, but each time Sansa’s grip in her hand grew tighter when she returned.

A Lannister solider, sweaty and bloody from battle, burst in. He spoke hurriedly to Cersei. Moments later, the queen took Tommen and stormed out of the holdfast. Arya watched lamely as Tommen’s stunned face disappeared behind the door, the almond cake sitting uncomfortably in her stomach.

Sansa’s face contorted for half a second, but then the mask was in place once more. She started leading the ladies in hymns in an attempt to keep their spirits up.

Shae pulled Arya from one of the cots and dragged her to Sansa’s side. Arya was trembling, but Shae’s hand in hers did provide a degree of comfort.

“You must go.” The handmaiden said seriously. “Run to your chambers and bar your door. Stannis won’t hurt you.” She glanced back at Ser Ilyn. “This one will.”

“Come with us.” Sansa begged, her arms wrapped around Arya’s shoulders. Where Arya had barely grown an inch in the last year, Sansa’s height had skyrocketed. She wondered if she was even taller than Robb now.

“I need to say goodbye to someone.” Shae said.

Sansa’s voice dropped in a weak attempt to hide her words from Arya. 

“They’ll rape everyone.”

Shae smirked and showed them a knife strapped to her thigh. “No one is raping me.” Then Shae pushed them, ushering them out of the door. “Go, run!”

Sansa’s hand was clammy as she dragged Arya through the halls of the Red Keep. The sounds of the battle were louder here. Bursts of flames shown through the windows and the harsh noise of steel on steel cut through the dissonance.

“Wait!” She cried.

“Arya!” Sansa scolded as she came to a sudden stop. “Come!”

“No!” Arya howled. Her thoughts were moving at a mile a minute.

Myrcella’s words echoed in her head. _You must wait until the time is right._

“Come on.” She urged as she started to led Sansa to her own room. They moment they burst through the door, she got to work. From a loose stone in the wall, Arya produced her satchel of supplies.

“Put this on.” She said, throwing the plain dress and cloak Myrcella had secured for her.

“What are you—Arya!”

Sansa’s horrified explanation came as Arya sliced the freshly sharpened Needle through her hair.

“Help me hide the evidence.” She instructed as she too began to change.

Dumbfounded, Sansa did as she was told, stuffing Arya’s discarded hair into the mattress and tucking both of their dresses neatly in the wardrobe.

“Quickly!” Arya pleaded. Her own clothing and haircut would disguise her as a boy as best as possible, but Sansa was too grown to pass as such. They would have to rely on the cloak and plain clothes to disguise her identity.

“You’re mad.” Sansa asserted in disbelief.

“We’re about to find out if I’m mad or brilliant.” Arya said with a smirk that had been absent from her face for far too long. Rapidly, both girls fled Arya’s bed chamber, carefully making their way down to the stables.

“The guards will catch us.” Her sister bemoaned.

She shook her head, partly trying to convince herself. “They’re all occupied holding the Mud Gate. We’ll be taking Dragon Gate north.”

By the time they made it to the stables, Myrcella’s words were loud in her ears.

_Fifth stall down on the left. The all black mare with the sweet eyes. The saddle bag embroidered with gold flowers._

Pretty enough that the soldiers wouldn’t want to commandeer it but simple enough that it wouldn’t draw attention on their travels. The mare was not bred for battle but would be good for long distances.

Relief shook her bones as she found Joan, the horse, and the saddlebag exactly where Myrcella said they would be. Sansa had never taken to riding like Arya and their brothers had, but Ned Stark would not have his daughter unable to saddle her own stead. Together, they set a record with their preparation, keenly aware of the battle raging on the opposite side of the keep.

Arya knew her sister had a million question and was grateful that she kept her mouth shut, at least for the time being. They climbed on top of the mare; Arya situated in front with Sansa’s arms wrapped tightly around her middle.

There was a single guard outside the stables that could only shout at them as they passed. Joan was as quick as Myrcella had promised. Arya’s heart ached for her dear friend and for the first time in her life, she gave a voluntary prayer. There were no weirwoods in Dorne so she prayed to the Mother to bless Myrcella Baratheon and prayed to the Warrior to protect her.

They sped through the city, grateful that the battle had forced most inside their homes. Some were sitting on their rooftops or balconies though few paid any mind to the girls. The bay alight with green fire drew most sane person’s attention. Arya and Sansa, however, could not afford to look back at the spectacle.

Neither girl relaxed until they could no longer see the Red Keep in the distance. By then the sun was rising.

After she led Joan deeper into the woods, Arya practically tumbled off of the horse. As exhaustion over came her, she fell asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Since Arya was captured immediately after Ned was arrested, she never met Yoren and therefore never learned to make the list as a coping mechanism. As that became the only thing that kept her going all that time, she needs something else to rely on. Sansa, the only family she has, steps in as a surrogate mother for Arya. I don't intend to make Arya "weaker" because of this. She's still Arya. However, due to the presence of someone she can trust (Sansa) she's allowed to act more like the terrified child she is than the unflappable warrior she has to pretend to be to survive. On the side of the coin, Sansa is no longer just in it for her own survival in King's Landing. She also has Arya's safety to think about. Their relationship becomes less bickering sisters to co-dependency in the face of mortal peril. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I have not read the books but I have picked up some of the books-only characters and character traits from other fics. I just don't have the patience to read those beasts at the moment.


End file.
